


Suffering and Appreciation

by flurblewig



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flurblewig/pseuds/flurblewig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Chase have the post-Vogler 'Why did you do it' confrontation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffering and Appreciation

  
There's no answer when he rings the doorbell, but he was expecting that. He starts knocking; a single-fist thump, repetitive and insistent. He'll carry on all night if he has to.

House opens the door after twenty minutes. It's actually sooner than he'd thought it would be.

He looks at Chase calmly. "You're not going away, are you?"

"No."

House stands aside from the door. "Then I guess you'd better come in. My neighbours tend to get a little grouchy when the police show up at two o'clock in the morning. I keep telling them how unreasonable that is, but they just don't seem to get it. What can you do?"

Chase follows him inside and shuts the door. House sits down in a big, overstuffed armchair and regards him with a polite, expectant expression. He's wearing jeans and an unwrinkled black t-shirt. It doesn't look like he's been to bed, and for a tiny second Chase allows himself the indulgence of imagining that House can't sleep either. Which, yeah, is probably true. But not for the same reasons. He's pretty much come to accept the fact of his own insanity, but he's not so far gone as to think that House spares him a second thought once they're not in the hospital. Probably not even when they are.

He knows his place.

And really, it's not here. He stands in the middle of the room, feeling suddenly lost. He'd focused so much energy on the idea of getting here, and making House let him in, that he hadn't really saved any for what came next. Now that he's here, he discovers that the plan seems to have run out.

House doesn't say a word, just continues watching him with that attentive but dispassionate expression. It's a look that belongs on the face of someone who's about to say 'And how can I help you, sir?' It looks alien on House's face. Kind of scary, too.

Chase swallows, forcing non-existent saliva down a throat that feels like it's lined with sand. This is madness. What is he doing here? What on Earth did he hope to achieve?

Actually, he knows the answer to that one. An _end,_ one way or another - that's what he wants. What he needs. But he doubts House is going to give it to him. The bastard is having way too much fun.

"I'll go," he says finally.

House's expression transforms smoothly into surprise and gentle disappointment. "What, so soon? You've only just got here."

He's good; he can sound almost genuine sometimes. Almost human.

Chase shakes his head and closes his eyes for a second. This was a big mistake, he sees that now. There's nothing to be gained by prolonging this. Nothing to be gained by him, anyway.

He turns, but before he can even take one step towards the door, House is up and out of his chair and grabbing Chase's arm. He jumps at the touch, and knows that it's out of proportion to the surprise. House hasn't really moved that fast, it's just that Chase is slow. Every movement, every breath, feels like he's swimming through warm glue.

"No you don't," House says, and now all the false pleasantry has been dropped from both expression and tone. "You came here for a reason."

Chase doesn't pull his arm away. Doesn't want to, even now. Begging for scraps; it's pathetic. _He's_ pathetic. His eyes sting, and he blinks angrily. He won't cry in front of House. Not that. Many things, maybe, but not that.

"Yes," he says, more to buy time than anything else.

House releases him, and sits back down. This time, his face stays cold and hard, and Chase is grateful. It puts him closer to more solid, recognisable ground.

He opens his mouth, not sure what's going to come out. In the end, it turns out to be the simple truth.

"I need this to be over," he says.

House puts his head on one side, as if considering. "Interesting," he says. "'I need this to be over', not 'I need to put a stop to this.' So it should all just magically go away without you having to do anything about it, is that right? You don't think you should actually have to, oh, say _earn_ what you want?" He shakes his head in what looks like genuine disappointment. "You haven't even got the balls to be passive-aggressive, have you? You're just passive-passive. They'll have to create a new category, just for you."

Chase feels the flush warm his skin. It was a poor choice of words, and you can't afford to do that around House. He should know better.

Ah, and isn't that the story of his life?

But at least there's one good thing; House hasn't asked him what 'this' is. It's an acknowledgement that yes, it's been deliberate on House's part. The looks, the slights, the coldness - it hasn't just been House being House. It's been a punishment.

He finds that absurdly, pathetically gratifying. Naughty boy, begging for attention. _Any_ attention.

He almost smiles. There's a certain kind of liberation in accepting just how low you're capable of sinking. In embracing your own humiliation. It affords a Zen-like calm.

"Okay," he says. "I need to put a stop to this."

House leans back. "Now we're getting somewhere. Personal responsibility, Dr Chase. It's an admirable concept. Try it, you might like it."

The heat in his skin flares up another notch. He's had those words said to him before, and in not too dissimilar a setting. An older man sitting before him, Chase standing with his head bowed like a supplicant. The sardonic amusement, the I-know-so-much-more-than-you arrogance. Oh yes, he's been here before.

And yes, he liked it.

He shifts a little as his cock hardens, flexing against the rough material of his jeans. House's eyes flick briefly to his groin, but he says nothing. Chase swallows, feeling suddenly naked.

He looks at House helplessly. "What do you want from me?"

House looks back calmly, impassively. "Shouldn't that be the other way round? This is more about what you want from me, isn't it?"

Chase pauses, then nods slowly. Yes, it is. Of course it is.

House's eyes stay locked on his. "Well?"

He's so hard now it's painful, and surely House must have noticed. Must already know exactly what Chase wants from him. What he's always wanted.

_Move_, his brain says, apparently inflamed by the same wild desperation as his aching cock. _Go to him. Show him. What have you got to lose, now?_

But he can't. His head is filled with a kaleidoscope of images - House's hands on his body, making him naked, making him come - but it's just serving to paralyse him further.

House leans forward. "Tongue-tied?" His voice almost sounds gentle. "Then perhaps I should go first after all. Okay then, let's see. What do I want from you, Chase? Oh, I know - how about this? I want to know _why_."

Chase stares at him blankly for a second; his brain is having trouble switching back into language mode. "Why -?"

House's face is serious, now. "Why did you do it? Sell me out to Vogler?"

Chase drops his gaze. He knows it makes him look guilty, but what the hell. He is.

"I was - afraid," he says. He can feel House's eyes on him but he carries on looking at the floor. "I knew how badly I'd screwed up with that angiogram. I thought you were going to fire me."

"So you wanted to get me fired first?"

Chase's head shoots up. "No! God, no. It wasn't like that. I just thought - I wanted some kind of insurance. Something to bargain with. I thought Vogler would be better because Cuddy would really have had to do something about it, but Vogler - I thought he'd just, you know, it was like a power game. It wasn't meant - I never thought it would go that far, get that complicated." He shuts his eyes. "I don't always think things through very well."

House raises an eyebrow. "You don't say. Well, how admirably dedicated you are, Dr Chase. Excuse me for taking the whole betrayal thing so personally. I just never realised the job meant quite so much to you."

There's a long silence. That's not exactly a peace offering, but Chase knows it's the best he's going to get. It's a get-out clause of sorts, and he's quite surprised House is being generous enough to offer it. He can agree, and apologise, and leave - with at least some of his dignity intact - and they can go on. He'll never be forgiven and it'll never be like it was, but it might be workable. And that's what he really wants.

Isn't it?

He opens his mouth, and what comes out is: "It doesn't."

There's another long moment of silence. "I see," says House softly.

He hasn't eaten much for a while - he doubts the lime segments in tequila really count - and he's starting to feel a little light-headed. It adds to the unreality of the situation, and he almost laughs. This isn't really happening, is it? It's a dream - or no, better yet; one of his fantasies. Any second now, House will get out of his chair and get right in his face. He'll reach out and grab his collar, pulling Chase towards him - and then he'll kiss him. It'll be rough and unforgiving, a display of dominance rather than affection or even desire.

And Chase will fold. Oh yes, how he'll fold. He'll open up to House's forceful, questing tongue and let his hands roam freely wherever they want. He'll do whatever he's told, allow House complete ownership of his body. Nothing is sacred - not here, not tonight. He'll let House push him to his knees, but he'll do the rest willingly; take House's cock into his mouth slowly, reverently. He'll lick, suck, swallow - whatever House commands, he'll do. And he'll love it.

When he finally looks up, House hasn't moved. No, of course not. Because life doesn't work like fantasies. Shame he couldn't have absorbed that lesson a little earlier in life, huh?

"Well, if that's the case then we seem to be back at square one again, don't we? Back to _why?_"

Chase licks his dry lips. "You know why," he says quietly.

House frowns and leans forward, cupping a hand behind his ear. "What's that?"

Chase sighs. "Are you going to make me say it?"

Stupid question. Of course he is. Chase was handed his exit pass and he didn't take it. He's fair game, now.

House just looks at him, one eyebrow raised.

Well, it hardly matters any more, does it? It's all gone too far. Probably had a long time ago.

"It's not the job," he says. "It's you."

House purses his lips and nods slowly. It's the half-grudging, half-admiring 'yeah, that could have merit' expression he uses on the rare occasions when one of them actually comes up with an idea he agrees with. "Right," he says, in a satisfied - and rather final - tone of voice.

Chase blinks. Is that it?

He's glad that he manages not to say that out loud, though. It would just make House ask him what else he expected, and he can't face trying to answer that.

He looks around helplessly. He's not sure _what_ he expected, but he's pretty certain it wasn't this. In his experience, the Big Declaration normally got more of a response than 'oh, right."

But then that's House, isn't it? He's never exactly followed the rules.

No doubt this had just been another mystery to him - Puzzle #32,561: What's The Story With Chase? He didn't care, he just wanted to know. And now he did - _oh, right, he's in love with me. Well, that explains it_ \- the case was closed. After all, it wasn't like House didn't already have Cameron mooning after him. It was hardly a new experience.

The heat is back in his cheeks as the flush builds. Damn, but he's an idiot.

"I'll go," he says, and this time House doesn't protest.

He drags himself slowly to the door, opens it and steps out. He takes a deep breath, then reaches back to close it.

Before he can complete the movement, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns fully, and suddenly House's lips are on his. It's not quite like he'd imagined; the skin is just as rough and stubbly, but the kiss doesn't have the same punishing force. It's not gentle, but there's definitely more desire than anger. Chase has been kissed with both, and he knows the difference.

He's frozen with surprise for a half-second, but when he regains control of his body he responds with fervour. His eyes close as the blood pounds in his ears and his stomach clenches with shock, new-awakened passion and something very like joy.

And then it's over, and he's left breathless and floundering and very, very hard. He moves to step back inside, but finds House's hands on his chest, pushing him back. There's no real force behind it but he's already off-balance and it doesn't take much to make him stumble and tip over backwards.

House watches him with a look of amusement and - could that actually be a hint of affection? His colour is high and his lips look slightly swollen, and right now Chase wants nothing more in all the world than to feel those lips on his again. He opens his mouth, but House cuts him off.

"You're leaving," he says.

Chase gets up and stands up straight again, looking at him in confusion.

House gives him a contemplative look "You know, I was going to fire you. Not because of the angiogram, but because Foreman was right: you wanted this job, but you didn't appreciate it."

Chase frowns. "I don't understand."

House smiles. "I know. So aren't you lucky that I'm going to teach you? After all, the things we appreciate most are the ones we suffer for."

He blows Chase a kiss, and closes the door in his face.

  
-end-  



End file.
